


things to do

by jdphoenix



Series: things to do [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Season/Series 01, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ward's looking at her like she's a bomb he has no hope of diffusing.</p><p>[Previously "things to do instead of crying."]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. instead of crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the start of "T.A.H.I.T.I."

Skye and the surgical team disappear through the double doors, leaving Jemma feeling empty. She's done all she can; Skye's life is in far more capable hands than hers now. The thought should be heartening at best and a cold statement of fact at worst but the reality is it starts an all too familiar prickling sensation behind her eyes.

"I- I have to-" She stumbles away from the team before finishing the statement. She doubts any of them are terribly concerned with where she's disappearing to.

The bathroom is cold and sterile as the rest of the hospital and blessedly empty. Jemma locks herself in a stall and is in tears again before she's even finished undoing her pants. It's highly unsanitary but she finds herself leaning against the flimsy wall, her face buried in a handful of toilet tissue.

She's lucky, she thinks, that no one else has come in yet to hear her sobbing. It's so wholly unfair that she should be lucky when Skye wasn't at all, that a new wave of tears hits her. She was stupid, so utterly stupid to want to go into the field. How could she want this? A life where she watches her friends and colleagues being hurt or … or …

She refuses to complete the thought. _No one_ on their team is going to be doing that unspeakable thing. It is _not allowed_.

Determination carries her from the stall and a splash of cold water at the sink is enough of a shock to fight back any lingering tears. She looks like hell but that's to be expected. As things are now she could get in a full night's sleep and a long, hot bath and still come out looking terrible simply for worrying. The important thing is she's stopped crying. Now the only thing left to do is to find the team and wait. The surgery will likely take hours yet and the thought of all that time leaves a hollowness in her belly that's worse than the one left when she handed off Skye's care to the doctors here.

She grabs the door handle and stumbles a little at how heavy it is. The extra weight lifts off almost immediately and she just catches sight of a shoulder pulling away from the doorway, allowing her to exit.

"Oh, _Ward_ ," she says as she steps out. Sure enough he's there, still leaning against the wall just outside with arms crossed and looking like some sort of gargoyle protecting the ladies' room entrance. Now she knows why no one came in while she was crying her eyes out.

He shrugs off her silent accusation as if to say it was nothing. "Just watching your back, that's all," he says, his voice rough with grief.

She can see his attention split between a pair of doctors conversing at the end of the hall and a nurse who gives him a pointed look as she heads into the bathroom behind Jemma's back. They're in the midst of a secure SHIELD facility and he still watches for threats. Was he like this at the Hub? Or is this behavior the result of the last few hours?

"Bollocks," she mutters.

His eyes are instantly on her but she waves off his concern. She's only crying again.

"I thought I was done." She wipes at her eyes. When that only invites a new downpour, she reaches for the door.

Ward catches her arm to stop her, giving her a firm shake of his head.

"I'm certain SHIELD checked her thoroughly before allowing her to work here," she says, trying to adopt a light tone. It comes out sounding rather desperate even to her own ears. Even Ward can't hold back his grimace but he doesn't let her go. Instead he tugs her across the hall, into one of the patient rooms.

The curtains are open, letting in cheery, natural light that is so at odds with the hallway they just came from as to be jarring. The overlarge hospital bed is, thankfully, empty and made, waiting for its next occupant.

"I'm fine," Jemma says. "Really I am." But she's thinking about the bed and wondering if it will soon be Skye's or if she'll even have need of one at all.

She falls back against the wall and Ward's looking at her like she's a bomb he has no hope of diffusing. She closes her eyes.

"I just need a moment," she sighs. Her voice comes out tight and pained but it can't be helped. At least she's not really crying this time. Given a few moments she'll have herself centered and be ready to find the others.

Gentle, uncertain fingers pull her shoulders from the wall and before she quite has a grasp on what's happening, she's in Ward's arms. He's almost the opposite of Fitz, whose arms were tight but soft around her, who broke just as she broke and needed to be held just as she did by the end. Ward is stiff like a marionette. His hands make some attempt at guiding her closer to him while his elbows are as far from her as possible. Skye would laugh if she could see them now.

Jemma is _not_ going to cry again. It occurs to her that the only way to banish the vision of a laughing Skye is to end the awkwardness. It also occurs to her that Ward is having just as terrible a time as she is, given his behavior.

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer. When it comes to comforting a crying woman, Ward may be as hopeless as the rest of his gender (with the notable exception of Fitz), but Jemma has always had quite the knack for hugging. She is strong in her stance, steady enough to support him even as her arms are soft around him. He stiffens at first but then the hesitation melts away and he with it. He clings to her, shaking and burying his face in her neck.

"Shh, shh," she soothes. She doesn't offer empty platitudes about it all coming out right because they will both know those are lies. She only holds on as long as he needs. It must be terribly uncomfortable for him, tall as he is, to be curled around her like this. She doesn't imagine he will allow it to go on more than a minute or two but it is two minutes he is in desperate need of.

He doesn't cry but then she doesn't expect him to. It is one thing to accept a momentary offer of release, it is another entirely to completely break down, especially for a specialist.

She rubs a hand along his back, keeping her touch light. She knows he jumped from a train today. His shaking subsides quickly. A slow, ragged sigh falls out of him. She thinks he is pulling away but it's only the angle of his head that's changing. As the sigh tapers off, his lips press to the base of her throat. She stiffens and he instantly lifts himself off of her.

"Sorry," he says, his voice heavy the way it was when she had to sedate him to treat his bullet wound after Coulson was taken.

Their arms are still around each other - barely - his sliding away from her back and hers not even wrapping all the way around his neck anymore now that he's standing. Maybe it's pity, maybe it's stress, maybe it's just a product of her desperate need to do something, _anything_ in this moment. Regardless of the reason, she grips Ward's shoulders and pulls. He's stronger than her so she ends up on her tip toes more than he bends but the end result is a kiss. He needs no further encouragement. His arms tighten around her once more and he pulls her up against his chest.

She's never kissed like this before, with her legs left to dangle because the man was too tall and too strong. It's just started to cause a pain in her abdomen when the backs of her legs brush against something soft and he's setting her down. The bed. How fortuitous, she thinks and then she's pulling at his shirt just as he pulls at hers.

After, she insists on remaking the bed and he actually laughs. The sound is too small and too short, even for him, and her answering smile is much the same, but they're each lighter than they were before. It's enough for now.


	2. instead of sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over on tumblr, shineyma requested "things to do instead of crying three days later." I hope this satisfies. :)

"What are you doing?"

The truth is, Grant's not sure what he's doing. He knows  _what's happening_  - and that's that he's just made a point of meeting Simmons as she got off the elevator - but he doesn't know why he's doing it.

Well, no, he actually does. He really,  _really_  does.

He's under the same orders she is. Rest and time away from the medpod. It's not like Skye's alone down there. Fitz is still hovering in the lab and May's working out in the cargo hold. No one's actually working on anything except keeping an eye on Skye. Coulson's got them grounded for the foreseeable future and he's barely left the pod since saying goodbye to Garrett.

And that might be the real problem. Garrett's got the serum, he's got the answers he sent Grant here for. There's no telling how much longer Grant will be here. Grant knows well enough to see how things will play out. In a few weeks or months, Garrett will come calling, say he needs Grant for a job and no one else will do. He'll offer to let Coulson have Trip in the meantime and by the time the mission's done, everyone will be so comfortable with Trip that they won't mind Grant rejoining the specialist rotation. Garrett already planted the idea in Coulson's head that Trip has a potential place on the team.

"Ward?" Simmons asks. She's looking at him closely, one hand lifted between them like she's going to check him over for injury.

He wants her to close the distance.

"How'd you like Trip?" he asks.

Her hand drops. She takes a slight step backward, not far enough to put her back in the elevator, but she might as well be fleeing back downstairs.

"He is a very capable agent," she says stiffly. Her weight shifts to move past him but he doesn't give her the room. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've been ordered to bed."

"That's not what I meant," he says quickly. He's not sure how to play this. He knows his cover would be awkward - and he's definitely got that covered so far - but as for the real him … he just wants to have her right up against the wall.

"Oh," she says, the one word heavy with meaning. "We both knew this was coming, I suppose, but I don't see that there's any need, honestly. We were both distraught and emotionally compromised and needed the release."

He leans to the side and she steps forward, laying a hand on his arm as she makes to pass by.

"It's fine, Ward.  _Really_."

But it's not. Because Skye nearly died for the plan. Because sooner or later he'll be gone. Because it'll probably take Trip two days to get everyone on the Bus to fall in love with him.

He moves into her space, forcing her back into the wall and pinning her between his arms.

"What if I said I was still compromised?" Because he really has to be if he's doing this. His cover's practically nonexistent right now. Good guy agent of SHIELD Grant Ward doesn't put that sharp twist on his words, he doesn't fantasize about fucking his teammates, and he definitely doesn't kiss them in public spaces so they'll touch his chest.

"Ward," Simmons says. She doesn't say stop - which might have something to do with his good memory and that spot on her neck she likes - and there's something in her voice that sounds like the Simmons from the hospital room. The one who was desperate, who begged him to  _move already_  and then laughed gleefully when he did exactly the opposite. He's still got marks on his back from that Simmons and he wants to bring her back.

He pulls at the zipper of her pants and once he's got them loosened, drops to his knees. They _are_ in a public place; don't want to waste any time.

" _Ward_."

When he looks up at her from this angle, her face is partially framed by her cleavage. It's a very good view.

He lifts an eyebrow in question. She's biting her lip, breath already coming out in heavy gulps. She glances up and down the hall and smiles ruefully.

"Make it quick before someone comes," she says and runs her fingers fondly through his hair.

That he can do. He kisses her, starting at her naval and moving downward. He wraps his arms around her legs to grip her ass and pull her hips forward so he can get the angle he wants.

Her fingers curl in his hair to the point of being painful but he doesn't mind, only goes deeper until his senses are filled up with her. The feel of her skin beneath his hands, her taste, her scent. He's buried in her curls and all he can hear is the swish of her thighs at his ears and her gasps. She's trying to hold back the worst of it for fear of the others hearing and he wants suddenly to break her of that.

He eases off, teasing with his tongue and teeth. She tries to press him closer but he only makes his way back up towards her naval. She whimpers above him, completely hiding the sound of his zipper sliding open. He pulls his pants down one-handed and then moves back up her, tracing her curves of her body with his fingers as he goes.

"You, Grant Ward," she says once they're on eye-level, "are a tease."

She's writhing against him, eager for release, and doesn't even notice when he pins her wrists above her head with one of his hands.

"But worth it," he says before using his free hand to guide her hips closer.

She smiles, bottom lip still caught between her teeth, at the feel of his erection. He knows she's already wet and strives to follow her earlier instructions. She cries out as he presses into her, arms straining against his hold. He can feel her whole body straining to  _move_  around him.

He makes her wait. Not long, only a few agonizing seconds until she stills. And then he gives her what she wants, moves in and out of her in a wild rhythm until she lets out a dry, throaty scream.

She's so beautiful, lost in the moment like this, he can't help but kiss her. He lets her arms go to grip her head and she wraps her arms tight around his, curling into him even while she's still coming down. Her teeth nip his lips and she breaks the kiss to lean her forehead against his. Her breath is heavy and warm on his face.

"Someone might've heard that," she breathes.

"We should probably follow orders," he says, his words just as heavy. "Get to bed."

She smiles and lifts her legs to wrap around his waist. He's got to kick their fallen clothes ahead of them and the absurdity of it has her laughing by the time they make her bunk. Once there, she insists on returning the favor.

If he's got to practically give Trip the rest of the team for Garrett, he will. He'll even let go of Simmons because he knows the alternative, but if Trip wants her - wants her like  _this_  - Grant's gonna make him work for it.

The next time he makes her scream, he does it by working entirely above the waist and lets her smother it in his crumpled up shirt.


	3. instead of sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that title would give you all a heads up that this chapter does not go quite the way the other two do. (Don't worry. As I keep telling safelycapricious, there is more smut ahead.)
> 
> Takes place immediately after "Yes Men."

Jemma brings her legs closer to her chest and tilts her head back to stare at the dark ceiling of the storage area. Music is pulsing overhead, courtesy of Skye’s impromptu no-more-bed-rest party. Jemma would have liked to keep her a few days longer, but - well…

Even down here, the music does a passable job of drowning out the sounds of sick coming from the bathroom behind the lab.

All at once the door slams open and Jemma scrambles up from her spot on the floor. Ward is stalled in the doorway, staring at her like … like he’s afraid of her. Her heart breaks a little more.

“I suppose we have to do this then,” he says, voice tight and raw from what he’s just done.

“No,” she says immediately, earning her a confused look. “We’re heading to the nearest base - it’s standard operating procedure after an encounter with an extraterrestrial-” He nods because of course he knows. Half the Helicarrier’s staff had to go into mandatory three day quarantine after the battle of New York. (Skye hasn’t been told yet, obviously. No one wants to ruin her party. Or endure her whining.) “-I can request another doctor, if you’d like.” Unfortunately it’s also standard operating procedure for anyone who has physical contact with an extraterrestrial to undergo a full physical.

He stares at her for long seconds and she can’t decipher his expression. He runs his hands furiously over his face and lets out a ragged sigh.

“Do _you_ want another doctor to do it?” he asks, sounding defeated.

“This isn’t about me.”

He punches the wall and she startles back. He doesn’t seem to notice, too concerned with his studying his hand.

Her throat works but she’s not sure what to say. She’s not sure there’s anything _to_ say.

“Let’s just get this done,” he says and pushes past her into the lab.

She stumbles into the wall, using it to regain some stability - and not just the physical kind. She wishes, more than anything, he’d taken her up on the offer to call in a more qualified doctor. One whose specialty is actually medicine and who might have some idea of how to broach the subject at hand. And, most importantly, one who he hasn’t slept with.

It’s not that she feels incapable of doctoring Ward since their … encounters, but under the circumstances she’s really not the best choice of physician.

“You can do this,” she says softly. “It is your duty to help Agent Ward in his recovery and you _can do this_.”

He’s already sitting on a stool when she comes in, which isn’t out of the ordinary - he knows the routine and likes to get his check-ups over with quickly - what _is_ out of the ordinary is that his shirt is still on. She pretends not to notice and grabs a pair of latex gloves from the box. 

“Your voice carries,” he says as she slips them on. His back is to her and she thinks that might make it easier for him to speak. “When the door is open - even a little - your voice carries from the back.”

“Oh. Good to know.” Heat rises in her cheeks as she comes around to face him. “Blood pressure.”

He puts his arm obediently into the cuff. His blood pressure is only slightly elevated, but not beyond what’s typical for so soon after a fight. She makes note of the change to be safe and checks his reflexes, vision, hearing… She goes through every test she can possibly justify, trying to put off the next part as long as possible.

“It’s okay,” he says finally, when it’s become clear and obvious she’s stalling. He pulls his shirt over his head so she can see the nasty bruises left from his fight with May. She hisses in a breath. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Ward-”

“It’s not,” he says, but there’s no fire behind it, only resignation. “Sex isn’t the same for me as it is for other people. We try not to, but every specialist has had to sleep with someone for a cover at some point. We can’t put the same value on it that other people do.” He shrugs, his eyes on the cars parked in the cargo bay instead of on her. “So yeah, I’m angry, but it’s not about the sex, it’s about the rest of it.”

“Of course,” Jemma hears herself say. She heads for the fridge for an ice pack and fists her hands tight to keep them from shaking. And _that_ is only in sympathy, it is not at all from this hollow feeling carving out space in her chest. 

She’s no stranger to casual sex and she’s well aware that what they engaged in was reactionary. Skye was on death’s door and then the residual stress… It was all a very natural response and she never expected any emotional investment from it.

She hands him the ice pack and picks her tablet up off the table. “So that answers question number four: ‘did you have contact of a sexual nature with an extraterrestrial?’”

“Yeah,” he says dryly.

“Do you have any other injuries?” she asks. He only shakes his head and she gives him the sternest “ _Ward_ ” she can manage - which isn’t very stern at all, but it gets the barest smile out of him.

“No,” he says.

She drags a stool over to begin the rest of the questions. It’s an extensive list provided by SHIELD for a wide range of situations similar to this and not all of them apply. She fumbles over a few, realizing midway through asking that she doesn’t have to or that he’s already given her those answers. The words on the screen waver in her vision and she’s not sure if it’s the shaking of her hands or the tears in her eyes.

“Jemma.” A warm hand rests on her knee. “It’s okay.” His thumb kneads gently into her thigh and he pulls back sharply, as if surprised by his own actions.

She is officially the worst person in the world. Ward is the one who- who-

She drops her head forward and closes her eyes tight so she doesn’t have to see how strong he’s being, how he’s trying to help her through this. And all she can think of is her own stupid feelings.

She rolls back her shoulders and faces him. “No, it’s not. Whatever your feelings may - or may not - be, I should be able to remain professional. And I can. I promise. Besides, we’re almost done.” She pastes on a smile and he has the good grace to pretend he buys it.

She manages to finish the questions without any trouble and releases him, at least until they all enter quarantine. The music has quieted by now, so he should be able to get to his bunk without incident. She takes her time straightening the lab and then heads back into the medpod to ensure it’s ready should they ever have need of it again. Once that’s done she closes herself inside and sinks to the floor to cry.


	4. instead of lying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during "Turn, Turn, Turn."

Grant gingerly punches the air as he makes his way across the ruined lounge. With everyone else still back at Ops, it’s the perfect opportunity to burn off some of his nervous energy. He heads into his bunk, hoping his clothes survived the assault because he’d rather not fly all the way to who-knows-where in pants stained with other men’s blood.

This is the most dangerous part of any con. It’s almost over, he’s almost home free, and that’s when the eagerness and the cockiness start to set in. That’s when the inexperienced get themselves killed. Grant’s not about to let that happen, especially not with Garrett’s life on the line.

Just as he’d hoped, his stuff is more or less intact. He eases out of his tac vest, new injuries making themselves known now that the support’s gone. He lets the ruined pants fall to the floor as he surveys his bunk. There's always the chance, with any mission, that he'll have to leave unexpectedly, so he doesn't keep things with him that he'd rather not lose. But, since he's got the opportunity, he takes a look around for anything he'd like to take.

“Oh!” a startled voice cries out. It’s Simmons. He heard her light footsteps coming across the shattered glass, so he’s a lot less shocked at her finding him like this than she seems to be. 

He shakes out his new pants and, despite the pain he’s in, can’t help but smile a little. She’s turned to the side in his doorway, eyes on the ceiling, with her lip caught between her teeth in embarrassment. It’s kind of adorable.

And wow, is this whole uprising thing coming at just the right time.

“You’ve seen me naked,” he says dryly.

“Yes, but that was always consensual.”

He’s not sure if she’s making a joke or if she genuinely thought that was the best word to use. 

“What do you want?” he asks. It comes out a little rough - which it should, he’s supposed to be angry and betrayed - but he still feels bad. This is the last conversation they’re ever gonna have. He doesn’t want her to remember him like that.

“Coulson sent me. He wants you checked over before he’ll sign off on Hand taking you.”

“I’m _fine_.”

She turns in the doorway and props her shoulder against the frame. “Skye says you fought off half a dozen men.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Says the man who hasn’t put his pants on yet because he can’t figure out how without sitting on the bed first. But she’s not looking at his aching torso or his pants. She’s looking at his hands. 

He tried to wipe away the worst of it before getting Skye out of that closet but there’s still blood. Not all of it’s his.

The bunks have always felt roomy to Grant, who once spent a whole weekend hiding in a ventilation shaft, but when Simmons steps inside it feels like all the air’s gone out. There can’t possibly be enough space for the both of them. Suddenly the adrenaline that’s still surging through him doesn’t have anything to do with the con.

She grabs his sleeve and tugs his hand up. She runs calloused thumbs over his bruised and aching knuckles, and then she turns his hand over to drop a kiss into his palm. His fingers twitch, wanting to close around it.

“Don’t go,” she says, eyes still fixed on his hand.

He tries to pull away but she holds him more firmly than he would have thought possible.

“I’m not- I know we were just having fun, releasing stress. I’m not asking because I think there’s more between us.”

Something sharp pulls inside his chest. It feels like someone’s punched the air out of him.

“We need you. Here. Everything that’s happened …” She shakes her head and he sees a tear fall away. “The team needs to stick together now.”

He can’t. He’s known Garrett long enough to see the play here. Exposing himself as HYDRA gives Grant the freedom to escape with him. They don’t have to come up with some mission that’ll take just the two of them and, as an added bonus, Hand - and a couple random agents still loyal to SHIELD - get taken out along the way. He _has_ to go.

He can’t give her what she wants, so he gives her something else instead. He drops his pants to the floor and tugs, bringing her close enough they can feel each other’s body heat. Startled, she looks up at him, and that saves him the trouble of making her. He bends down and kisses her.

It’s more than a little selfish. This is the end of this chapter of his life and he doesn’t want to end it with a kiss meant to con Skye. He wants something real with Simmons.

She makes a sound that might be a sob but before he can question it, she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging to him like she never wants to let go. He grabs her hips to pull her up but his back spasms before he can get her off the ground.

“You _are_ hurt!” she says sternly with a light smack to his shoulder.

The broken kiss is a bad sign, but she’s still got one arm wrapped around his neck, so he’s feeling optimistic. 

Before he can offer some excuse, her hand curls in his shirt. “You really have to do this, don’t you?” she asks softly.

“Yes,” he sighs, more out of relief that he doesn’t have to con her into letting him go than anything.

She nods in understanding and begins sliding away. He pulls her closer, moving one hand over her hip to cup her ass. He’s learned that it’s a quick way to have her biting her lip and is not disappointed now.

“You’re sure?” she asks, slightly breathless. Her pupils are already blown wide and though she’s trying not to, she’s definitely moving against him.

It’s been almost a month since the last time they were together - and he’s not sure it’ll _ever_ be long enough since Lorelei - but right now? With Simmons? Yes. He absolutely wants this. 

“Yes,” he says, and is rewarded with a big, broad smile.

He bends to continue their kiss but she pushes against his chest. 

“Get on the bed,” she orders.

This is new. She’s never been so authoritative when they were together. He thinks he might like it.

“You’re _hurt_ ,” she says, probably in answer to his hesitation, and closes the door. “Get on the bed.”

He does as she asks, in part to get things going - he really does have to go soon - but also to see just where she’s headed with this.

“Sit up,” she orders before he can lay down, so he sits with his back against the wall and his legs dangling off the open side. It turns out to be the right move.

She steps between his legs and leans down for a kiss, only to pull back at the last second and take his boxers with her. He’s all set to complain, but then she starts pulling off her own pants.

“We’ll have to make this quick,” she says as she slides them down her legs, “so when you nearly get yourself killed out there, try to think about how much _more_ fun we could’ve had if you hadn’t run off so fast.”

“So I can be full of regrets as I die?” he asks.

Still bent in half, she smiles up at him. “So you can pull yourself together and _come back_.”

The reminder that he’s never going to come back might stamp out his rising lust but then she uncurls and steps out of the puddle of her clothes on the floor. He swallows audibly. She puts one knee on one side of his legs and then the other.

“You’re hurt," she says, bracing one palm against the wall behind him. “So let me take care of things?”

He’s nodding dumbly before she’s even done. “Yeah,” he gasps out. If he wasn’t hard before, he definitely is now.

Gently she takes hold of him. He fists his hands in the sheets and, as she eases onto him, tilts his head back to stifle a moan. She’s smiling. Godammit, she’s _smiling_ when she hasn’t even started yet and she’s driving him insane.

“You’re mean,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Very,” she agrees. Her hand is still between them, teasing her own clit while she carefully acclimates herself to him after so many weeks. Her muscles clench and loosen around him for what can only be a few seconds but it feels like eternity. And then she rolls her hips back, sliding nearly off him before taking him in again.

His back is one giant coil of pain and his hands still ache, but all of that seems far less important than the woman riding him. Her hair’s breaking free of its tie and hangs in thin tendrils around her face. She’s breathing heavily and worrying her lower lip in concentration, like this is some test she’s determined to pass.

He’s still keyed up from the events of the day - and what he’s going to do later - and comes before she does. She’s not far behind though, and falls against him, a warm, familiar weight. He wishes he could let her hold him here.

“Feeling better?” she asks, her words ghosting over his collarbone.

“Much, Dr. Simmons,” he teases. “But now I _really_ have to go.”

She’s still limp so he shifts her to lay on the bed while he gets up. He grabs his clothes off the floor and tosses hers over his shoulder to her. She’s got him loose enough to get his pants on now, but his shoulders still scream as he eases back into his tac vest. He ignores it and resumes his interrupted search for anything he wants to take with him.

“Be safe,” Simmons says when his eyes fall on her, still curled up in his bed. That sharp pain pulls at his chest again.

Turns out, there is one thing he’d rather not leave without.

“You too,” he says. He takes a few seconds more, long enough to burn the memory of her, half-dressed and sated, into his brain. And then he’s gone.


	5. instead of healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during "The Only Light in the Darkness" (aka the one where Grant comes to Providence).

Jemma stalls, one foot depressing the tab to open the trashcan lid. The discarded wrappers from gauze and needles and the whole host of disposable medical supplies she had to use today are crumpled in her hand, ready to be dropped in. She needs to finish this and meet up with Fitz to prepare for their mission. But she can’t. She’s frozen over the bin, staring at the remains of the t-shirt she had to cut Grant out of.

It was frayed and torn and caked with blood. As she sliced it away from him, all she could think was that the last time she’d seen it, it had been whole; would the body beneath be similarly altered?

But he’s _fine_. He’s _alive_. She’s been repeating the two facts in a constant litany ever since Skye reported that she’d succeeded in reaching him. And now Jemma has concrete proof: she examined him herself. He’s injured, yes, but he will recover and survive. So why can’t she look away from the bloody shirt?

“Simmons?”

She startles like some frightened deer. It’s a miracle the wrappers do, in fact, make it into the can as she leaps away and clutches at her stomach. She’d actually (embarrassingly) been physically ill after it truly sunk in that HYDRA of all things was back, had never even been gone, and she still hasn’t quite recovered her stability. She thinks more than a little of that might be due to worry over the man in front of her.

Grant allows the door to close behind him and comes across the lab towards her. He’s watching her closely and slows his steps as he nears. She doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want him _over there_. She wants him _here_. Right here, with her.

She wants, more than anything, for him to just hold her. Not to soothe her fears with empty lies, but just to let her take some small comfort in his presence. But she can’t. She’s realized, rather belatedly, that she doesn’t want simple physical comfort - not the kind he would be willing to offer at any rate. 

She thought she could ride it out, force down this … this _crush_ if given enough time and exposure to his annoying attributes. The last few weeks were actually going quite well. But then the world fell apart and he became the constant thought at the back of her mind. She fears she might be well and truly attached and she can’t fight that if she’s running to him for comfort every five seconds. So she steps back.

His expression freezes, but only for the briefest of moments before he tilts his head to one side. “Are you okay?” he asks with the barest teasing smile, like he wants her to be able to say no if she really isn’t.

A slightly hysterical laugh escapes her and she slaps a hand over her mouth. Is _she_ okay? When he was the one who nearly- 

She turns away, afraid she might cry.

“Jemma.” His hand rests at the small of her back and her body leans towards him. She turns into it so that she can face him and stops herself from falling into his arms by laying a hand over the spot she knows the largest of his bandages is resting.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean it.” She sounds terrible even to her own ears but Grant doesn’t pull away in fear or disgust. He actually pulls her closer and runs his hand up and down her back.

“Didn’t mean what?” he asks softly.

“When I said-” She hiccups through her tears. “I didn’t mean for you to _actually_ almost die!”

He pulls her deeper into the circle of his arms so that she’s cushioned against his chest. (His _injured_ chest, and what did she say just a few hours ago about taking the time to heal?) His hand cups her head and she thinks she could stay like this forever, just listening to the steady beat of his very living heart.

She should never have allowed it to get this far. She should never have begun this in the first place but she _certainly_ should not have allowed herself to revisit their- their _arrangement_ after the Lorelei fiasco. Lord, she doesn’t know how she’ll ever escape him at this point.

“I knew what I was doing,” he says into her hair. “I knew it would be dangerous.”

“I should have stopped you from going. You weren’t fit to-”

He pushes her away, just far enough that he can look at her when he says, “I made it back, out of everyone. I’m a lot stronger than you give me credit for.”

She brushes at her eyes and shifts out of his hold. “Well, it’s my job to worry.” 

There’s nothing much left to tidy but she searches anyway. It occurs to her too late that she could just leave to help Fitz. 

“Is that all?” Grant asks before she can make her excuses and go. “Is that the only reason you worry?”

Of course he’s seen through her. Of course he’s realized. Something in her sinks and for the first time in days she doesn’t feel sick, only hollow. Did he know at the Hub? Did he see how she wanted him to come back for her instead of for the team? The world is in chaos, Grant almost died, and she’s too busy going man-crazy to keep it all in any sort of perspective. She is the worst kind of person.

Still, she’s got enough integrity left in her to face up to her mistakes. She forces herself to look him in the eye.

“No,” she says, voice surprisingly steady. “That’s not the only reason.” She can still salvage this with some pale lie that, like any decent human being, she worries because he is a person worthy of her concern. She doesn’t though, because whatever he does now, at least she’ll know.

She expects rejection - she _has_ just all but admitted to violating the unspoken rules of their no strings sexual relationship - but he only stares for long seconds before nodding off to her right.

“Sit,” he orders. 

There’s no stool or bench where he’s indicated, only a table. While she’s busy wondering what he’s about, he’s closed the distance between them again. He bodily moves her to the table and sits her on the edge. It’s lower than the other lab tables, just high enough that she can rest her rear end against it without actually sitting down. He pushes her back so her weight’s all on it and, in doing so, orients them so that he’s standing between her open legs. 

“Grant,” she says, not sure if it’s a question. She can’t begin to decipher his expression right now. He doesn’t break eye contact as he easily undoes the button of her jeans and pulls the zipper down. “What are you doing?” she asks as warmth floods between her legs. She really, _really_ should not have had sex with him at the Hub.

His hand slides beneath the elastic waistband of her knickers and his rough fingers dip between her folds. She drags in a breath and her hand lands on his upper arm, gripping tight. His other hand cups the back of her head and he bends to touch his forehead to hers.

“You were what I thought about,” he says. “Every hit, every blow. All I thought about was coming back to you.”

He kisses her as his fingers press against her clit. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him down. She bites at his lower lip and before she can slip her tongue into his mouth, he beats her to it. 

His fingers press and tease and she moves one hand to his wrist, to better guide him. With every adjustment he presses a smile to her skin as he kisses his way down her neck towards that spot that’s always certain to leave her incoherent.

“Grant,” she whines before he reaches it, her hand tightening around his wrist. She knows from experience - and so does he by this point - that if he does what she thinks he’s about to, it will result in something very loud and very embarrassing should any of the others be passing by.

He leans into her, his hand at the back of her head keeping her steady as he lays her out on the table beneath him. The change in angle allows him to reach lower and her hips press up into his hand of their own accord. He bites down on the spot on her neck just as he brings his hand around from the back of her head to cover her mouth.

She can feel him smiling as her cry peters out into his palm. The muscles between her thighs pulse and she kneads herself against his hand as her orgasm fades.

“You’re horrible,” she says fondly when he finally removes his hand from her mouth. He’s poised above her, grinning proudly from ear to ear.

“You love it,” he says. She can only smile in return because she does. She really does.

He wipes his palm on his jeans before sliding it around her shoulders to help her back up. His other hand is still in her knickers and she arches an eyebrow at him. The getting his hand out of her pants is accomplished far less smoothly than the getting it into them, but such is life. She aches when he’s gone, her body already missing his touch.

“I have to go,” she says, remembering her mission.

“I know.” He zips her up, buttons her jeans, and steps away, giving her room to go. “Be safe,” he says heavily.

Belatedly, it occurs to her that he was returning the favor she did him before he left. She smiles to herself as she heads out the door. She’ll come back - not just for him, of course, but certainly he’ll be on her mind. 

The world may be spinning out of control, but at least she has Grant. She thinks that might be enough.


	6. instead of loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during 1x21 "Ragtag."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The end. (Oh goodness.) I never intended for this to become a chapter fic but it happened (thanks, shineyma) and thank you to everyone for your support.

Dealing with spies hiding in the bushes isn’t exactly on Grant’s level, but he also doesn’t know these agents of Garrett’s and he’s not about to let them screw everything up now with their incompetence. Standing in the shed at the edge of the airfield, he’s glad he came.

“Take him,” he orders the agent hovering in the doorway. Fitz backs away, pulling Jemma behind him. That’s good. The way Fitz tugs at her arm, the way he tries to keep Grant away from her, it pisses him off, which is exactly what Grant needs right now. 

“No,” Fitz says when the agent tries to pull him away. Jemma winces as his grip on her arm tightens and Grant steps forward. Everything stops. Everyone looks to him. Well, Fitz and the agent do. Jemma hasn’t broken eye contact since he stepped into the shed.

Grant forces himself to look at Fitz. “Go and neither of you will be harmed,” he says coldly and returns his attention to Jemma. “Simmons and I will follow once I’m sure you’re aboard the Bus.”

The agent gives Fitz a tug while he’s preoccupied and manages to get him off of Jemma. 

“Ward, don’t do this,” Fitz pleads as he’s marched past. Grant ignores him.

Once they’re gone, once he hears one of the cars head for the Bus, Grant allows himself to smile. Jemma’s here. He thought he’d never see her again, but it looks like, for once, luck is on his side.

He steps forward and she retreats, like they’re dancers performing a routine.

“Don’t touch me,” she says. She’s got her arms wrapped tight around herself. “Don’t you _ever_ touch me again.”

She’s never looked at him like this before. Back at the Hub, when his hands were still dirty with the blood of enemy agents, when she’d last seen him shooting a helpless man in cold blood, she came willingly into his arms.

“Jemma,” he says, still reaching for her.

She shakes her head slowly and for the first time he has no idea what she’s thinking. Then something in her seems to shift, like a switch has been thrown. Her shoulders straighten and she moves. For a brief, heart-stopping moment he thinks she’s coming to him, but she’s only headed for the door.

“Let’s go,” she says, her voice cold, detached. “They’ve surely reached the Bus by now.”

He catches her arm as she passes and she pulls away wildly, not stopping until she hits the wall. He holds up his hands, palms out like he’s talking down a frightened animal. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

He never planned for this, never thought he’d be so lucky to get the chance to get her back, but now that it’s here he wants more time. To him the uprising is a long time coming but her entire world’s been upended in a matter of days. He wants to give her time to adjust, but there’s no telling what Garrett’s next play will be. This is his best opportunity to talk to her alone for the foreseeable future.

“I know you’re confused,” he says. “It’s understandable, but you have to know-”

She closes her eyes and he falters. She isn’t covering her ears though, and he thinks that might be something.

“It wasn’t about world domination - not for me. It was about doing something _good_ , it was about saving-”

“Garrett,” she says, finally looking at him. “He’s dying. We know.” He must look surprised because she goes on. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out - though I am one, so I suppose that helps.” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks away. “Can we please just go? Whatever you hope to accomplish here, it won’t work. You made it perfectly clear even before exposing yourself as a traitor that you didn’t care for me, so please don’t insult my intelligence by trying to play me now.”

That sharp pain in his chest is back. “I’m not trying to play you,” he says carefully. “I’m telling you the truth. The things I’ve done the last few days… they were regrettable but necessary.”

“It was necessary that you kill Agent Hand? And Agent Koenig? And a completely helpless man whose only crime was being the perfect scapegoat for Garrett’s actions as the Clairvoyant? Their deaths were _necessary?_ ”

He takes a step back, afraid he’ll do something he’ll regret if he doesn’t put some distance between them. “Hand,” he says slowly, “left me to _die_ \- left _Fitz_ to die! Or does that not matter to you? And how many other agents do you imagine she’s done that to, oh genius?”

“That does not justify-”

“Nash, wasn’t exactly a prize either. That chair was a fitting punishment for the crimes he committed.”

“You have _no right_ to pass _judgment_ on people!”

“And who does? Hand? Coulson? Fury? Because those were the people making the tough calls - the _life or death_ calls every day in SHIELD. The same ones that landed Garrett where he is now.”

“Garrett made his own decisions,” she says, oddly calm all of a sudden. “And so did you.”

“That’s right. I did.” He’s not about to deny it. “And one of those decisions was to be with _you_.”

She laughs, but it sounds more like a sob.

“I _chose_ to be with you.” He comes slowly closer, afraid she‘ll bolt if he startles her. “You may not understand why I did- any of it right now, but you will. I promise. Just give me a chance.” He cautiously puts his hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t pull away. A smile pulls at his lips.

She turns her face up towards him. She’s smiling too and he thinks _maybe…_

“Is that what you told Skye?”

He wants to answer - and he _has_ one, but his body doesn’t seem to want to give it. His hands lift away from her shoulders and his feet take a shaky step back. She turns to face the door. 

No. He thinks it over and over. He didn’t get a second chance - a _real_ chance to keep her - just to lose her like this. She’ll understand. All she needs is time.

 

* * *

 

Jemma’s life doesn’t flash before her eyes when the medpod falls from the Bus. Her mind goes back the few short days - can it really only have been less than a week since the Hub? - to when she was curled up on Ward’s bunk, pleasantly sated and watching him dress to leave.

It wouldn’t have changed anything, she knows, but as everything goes weightless in freefall and her terror comes screaming to the surface, her mind conjures up a pleasant image to carry her down, one of a world where he stayed, where he chose her over everything else. Silly, she knows.

She doesn’t feel the impact, but when she wakes up at the bottom of the ocean she can feel it in sore bones and muscles and, most of all, in the remains of her heart.


End file.
